


Calm after the east wind

by GoodDalekPeppergrinderfromdowntheRiver



Series: Sherlolly (if you squint) [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brotherly Affection, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 10:24:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9543632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodDalekPeppergrinderfromdowntheRiver/pseuds/GoodDalekPeppergrinderfromdowntheRiver
Summary: How Sherlock and those around him rebuild their lives after the Final Problem. Spoilers for series 4.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MrsPotterDrEw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsPotterDrEw/gifts).



> Firstly, Happy Birthday MrsPotterDrEw. I thought because I can't give you a proper present at the moment that I'd write fanfiction. :) I hope it's been a great birthday!!
> 
> Secondly, I apologise that I haven't posted in AGES! Uni work has got to me. I have to design a study and collect data and write it up and I have an essay and practical report, so not much time to write. I will finish my works which are pending at some point (sooner than later, hopefully).
> 
> This is my contribution to post The Final problem. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

**The calm after the east wind**

 

After Mr and Mrs Holmes left – fed up of scolding their eldest son for his misdeeds- John re-enters the room silently.

Mycroft places his hands on his forehead and sighs heavily. This day is one he certainly won’t forget in a hurry. He feels as if it will haunt him for the rest of his life. He almost wants to laugh at the irony because earlier, Sherlock had accused him of turning their sister into a ghost story – now, it seemed like just that. He’s still rather shaken by everything: Sherlock offering him the gun to kill someone; the fear of knowing that your life will soon come to a painful and miserable end and being locked in a cell. Though, Mycroft is referred to as the ice man, he cannot help that he’s affected.

Sherlock watches his brother carefully and silently for several minutes. Many thoughts flit through his mind as he watches him. There is a little bit of realisation. Once upon a time, he would have thought of his brother as cruel; as a bully. After all, Mycroft always taunted him that he was corrupted by innocence and never ceased to rub it in that he was the slow, inferior, younger brother. They’d never been close, per say. Their relationship existed only on the basis that they helped each other out from time to time. Merely self-interest. Now, he realises, his brother isn’t cruel; not really. He just likes to create the illusion that he was tougher than he thought he was. To protect them both. He cares – though in his own abstract way. Hours ago, he was faced with the option of killing his best friend and his brother. Hours ago, he could have lost his older brother. Thought they’d never been close, he hoped that perhaps… perhaps they could learn to be closer?

Also, there is a little bit of pity. If the tables were turned; if Sherlock was the elder sibling, tormented by such secrets, demons and responsibility, would he cope? 

“Mycroft, it’s not your fault,” he eventually says. His brother looks up at him, a little surprised, as if to say, you are still here?  “You did all you can for Eurus… and for me,”

“Let’s hope she is secure and safe now,” Mycroft responds.

“Yes.”

There is a beat of silence. A silence with so many unspoken words between the brothers. Sherlock wants to voice that Mycroft isn’t as strong as he pretends – not in a bad way – and that perhaps, he needs rest and sometime of work. Mycroft, however, wants to add an extra apology for all they had been through. For all he unleashed. For the secrets. However, neither are able to get their words out, still learning and trying to master the ability of overtly caring for each other.

John clears his throat and both the Holmes brothers look at him. “What happens now?”

“We put life back together, piece by piece,” Mycroft says.

“I … I need to talk to Molly,” Sherlock says.

“Wouldn’t you like to rest beforehand?” Mycroft asks. “I know 221B is destroyed, but I can easily arrange something… or you could stay with me?”

“Yes. I would. But the quicker she knows why I had to do that, then the less… the less time she has to suffer,”

It is a testimony to how much the day (one day alone) has changed them because Mycroft does not offer a superior laugh and insist that Sherlock is being sentimental. He just looks at his brother sadly.

“What will you say?” John asks.

“I … I will explain what Eurus did. That her life was on the line. That I had… I had to say it.”

“Would you … would you like me to explain to her?” Mycroft offers.

“No. It has to be done by me.”

There is another beat of silence in which John carefully contemplates his next words. He would not have thought that Sherlock was capable of love. Especially not for Molly Hooper. After all, time after time, John had seen Sherlock subject Molly Hooper to such humiliation. He’d seen Sherlock manipulate her and flirt shamelessly and strategically to get her weak at her knees. He treated her like an object. That was not how you treated someone you loved. You respected them and considered their emotions. He was so certain that it was Irene Adler. They had such chemistry… However, after seeing the way Sherlock reacted – the way he tore apart her coffin with his bare hands - John is more certain that ever that his friend is capable of love and fervent emotions.

“Do you… do you love Molly Hooper?” John asks.

“Sorry, what?” Sherlock responds.

“You… you said it twice.”

Sherlock leaves the room without answering and John stares after him, wondering whether he should let his best friend be, or run after him.

As if Mycroft can read his thoughts – which wouldn’t be a surprise, given his gift in deductions – he holds out a hand to stop John. “Don’t go after him. Today, he went to a place he never knew existed and naturally, there is shock and confusion. Not just Sherringford, but to a place where there are foreign, sticky and intrusive emotions. He’ll soon make sense of whatever it is he is feeling once he acclimatises to the differences in surroundings.”

John smiles at Mycroft slightly which is an achievement, because smiling, today of all days, is the bravest of accomplishments given the torture they’d been subject too. He sighs heavily when he realises life will never be the same again. He cannot un-see what he has seen. He cannot un-feel it either. He will always just be a solider, carrying around the scars of the past. He will always be the man too scared and moral to take a life to save two. He feels like even though he did not pull the trigger, he will have the Governor’s and his wife’s blood on his hands. Perhaps more things to hold in and not tell his therapist – if he can ever face going back to one.

Now, all John wants to do is make his escape like Sherlock has. He is weary all over. In fact, that does not cut it. His feels as if he will collapse into a heap on the ground any minute. All he needs is sleep, or a drink – either will do. However, he knows very well that neither are options. Foremost, he needs to collect his daughter from Mrs Hudson. He wants to hug his daughter and promise to never let her go. He has the urge to spend quality time with her; to lavish her with love and attention like his life depends on it. Mary’s death certainly hit him and whilst it made it ever so clear that life was transient and merely on lease, he neglected that thought and passed around his daughter like a hot potato. However, now after having his life on the line – once again! – and having seen a man and his wife, shot dead and seeing how cruel and infinitely sad the world could be, he is more adamant than ever that he shouldn’t waste aa single second of his time, not loving his daughter. He is about to leave, when he looks at Mycroft. Really looks.

Normally, he would take a look at Mycroft and think, “that arsehole,” or he’d assume that he has no emotions anyway, therefore not bothering with pleasantries such as ‘How are you?’ However, despite the weary and solemn feeling settling in his chest and despite knowing better, he asks, “Are you okay? Honestly.”

“As ever.” Mycroft says.

“You know, you’re welcomed round whenever you want,”

Mycroft smiles slightly. “You know… I might just take you up on that offer,”

John offers a weak smile back and leaves. Home, at last. He could do with a drink to wash away all the horrors of the day. However, he will be strong for Rosy.

Mycroft stands there silently and still for ages. Thoughts, weak and sad thoughts, permeate into his consciousness. In his head, he laughs harshly and scornfully – just a day ago, he would mock Sherlock for his sentiment and feelings, though now, it seems he is succumb to the illness too. He too is being tempted by repugnant emotions. He closes his eyes and wonders – should he resist them? Reinforce the wall surrounding him? Or should he fall?

He sighs heavily and picks up his phone. He is old and he is lonely. Trying to convince himself that he is doing the right thing, he dials Lady Smallwood.

 

 

*

 

 

 

He knocks on Molly’s door, despite the spare key in his pocket. He knows very well that he cannot impose his company on Molly, but he very well doesn’t want to put more strain on their fragile friendship. As John had needlessly told him, he was to tread carefully.

“Molly?” Molly Hooper alive. Oh God! He is overcome by the urge to hug her and hold her for an eternity. For once, the notion of physical comfort doesn’t his skin crawl. He isn’t inclined to consider it as unnecessary as he once did. However, he refrains from touching her – he has to earn that.

Molly Hooper looks a sight for sore eyes. There are bags under her eyes and her eyes are reddish. No doubt she has been crying. She looks at Sherlock – a bit of defiance and anger in her eyes. However, her hands shake slightly.

“What do you want Sherlock? I was trying to sleep” Her voice is cold and hard and it aches the heart he’d only recently discovered for Molly was by nature gentle and sweet. He knew that she’d be in pain; that she’d resent him quite a lot, but … but he’d greatly underestimated her feelings. His heart – the one he’d only recently discovered – aches. Suddenly, all the callous and cruel words he’d ever said to Molly, floods into his consciousness. All the times, he’d implied that she’d gained weight and commented on her physical appearance, downplaying her obvious beauty with cutting comments. He most certainly did not deserve Molly Hooper. She is too good for him. Way too good.

Suddenly, his mouth feels dry. He planned what he was going to say out rather meticulously. He accounted for different emotions that Molly Hooper may experience and how he’d adapt his explanation to meet the end goal – having her know that there was no other way. He – with the help of John – decided on things that he wouldn’t say, as to not break her further. However, staring at her, he had no words. They all seems to have dissipated in the air.

After a while, he manages to find some words but for a split second, he wants to hurt her some more. He wants to say something that would completely damage and break their friendship. He wants to push Molly Hooper further and harder than he ever had. Just to save her, to protect her from him. He seems to be able to get the words out, the ‘I love you’ - much a surprise to him – but he cannot love. He is too broken to love and Molly Hooper deserves better. However, no sooner was the thought considered, is it abandoned. He was just too selfish. He knows that for her own good, he should let Molly Hooper free, but he needs her. He needs her. He wants to be in her presence. She is his and he is hers and… and though he doesn’t feel capable of giving her what she needs, he knows that he cannot envisage life without her. She matters and he’s selfish. He can’t screw up. Can’t let her go.

Yes. Sentiment is a chemical found in the losing side. They’re both losers.

“Sherlock,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. She moves from the doorway. “Come in.”

“Would you like a coffee?” She asks, her voice rather hoarse. She is about to head into the kitchen.

“I’ll make us some,” he says. She smiles, though it is rather small. Still, it’s a smile anyway.

He returns with their coffees and places a mug opposite her. She immediately picks it up and sips some. “one and a half sugar and no milk. Just the way I like it,” she comments, though he is certain that she would be more surprised and elated if nothing had happened. She sits quietly and drinks her coffee, and he gulps down his own, eyes fixed on her. He had anticipated that she would avoid looking at him. That she would hide her face. However, she stares straight at him, unflinching and unashamed, as if to make a statement. She is strong, independent and not be messed with.

“Are you angry at me?” He asks after a moment of suffocating silence. He doesn’t know why he asks. An urge compels him too.

Molly laughs a bit, though the laugh is a little harsher than her normal laugh. “No… not angry… just… I’m just tired.” She doesn’t have to finish for him to know that by tired, she doesn’t just mean that she wants to sleep. She’s tired of being manipulated. Tired of loving a man who doesn’t deserve her love.

  
He sighs heavily about to launch into story. He knows very well that he can leave it to the next morning or that he could easily persuade John or Mycroft to do all the explanations. However, he knows that they need to have this conversation. That if Molly is worth anything to him, it should be him telling her.

“Everything I am about to tell you is absolutely true,” he insists. “I have a sister, Eurus. I forgot her and she was locked up in an institute as she … she is… dangerous. She… she reprograms people. She knows how to get under people’s skins. Still, I wanted to meet her. I needed to so I went to Sherringford with Mycroft and John. She was in control of the whole prison. She kept us there and made us play what she considered to be a game… She killed many people. She gave me a gun and told me to give it to either John or Mycroft to kill a man in order to save his wife… and then when neither killed him, he killed himself and she killed his wife…” He winces slightly, remembering the horror he was subject to. “She made me solve a case and the killed three brothers,”

Molly stares at him, horrified by what she is hearing, but transfixed. His voice slightly falters when he comes to where she came in. “She … there was a coffin… and… she intended it to be for you. She told me that she would kill you unless I got you to say I love you. I am sorry that I had to break you Molly but better that than… than death,”

She watches him quietly, eyes clouded a little by tears. After a minute or so, she takes his hands in hers and looks at him – really looks. “And… are… are you okay?”

Sherlock is rather taken aback by her response. Touch, something he has never welcomed before, feels so comfortable. His hands belong in hers, it seems. And she is asking about his welfare. It most certainly is not something that he anticipated, that after all he had to tell her, she’d ask about him. Though that was Molly. Caring as ever.

“No.” he responds honestly. “It… it was a difficult day. Are you okay?”

“No. I’m not angry with you. I know it is not your fault but I can’t… I can’t take my words back. I can’t say that they didn’t mean anything like your words,” she whispers trying not to look at him. “I am sorry… sorry for making you say it…”

“We’ll be fine,” Sherlock insists. “Molly,” He sighs. “Please look at me,”

For a second, she wants to close her eyes and never look at the man again, however, his soft voice is really persuasive. She looks at him; never has she seen his eyes, so kind and gentle. Never has she seen him so broken – not even before he faked his suicide. Never, has she seen him so… so naked and exposed. She doesn’t know whether to stare for an eternity or look away and never look back.

“What happened to your hands?” She asks, noticing that they are rather bruised.

“I … I tore apart the coffin,” he says. “I didn’t like the idea of you lying in it.”

She smiles, and probably the most genuine smile in what seems like an eternity.

 “I … I” He tries after some time.

“Sherlock, it’s fine. You don’t have to say anything,” she sighs.

He shakes his head slightly. He will never ever be able to get the words out if he doesn’t now. He is certain that if he doesn’t tell her, there will always be a tiny part of her wondering whether she actually matters. He can’t let that continue. He has to be strong in a way he never thought he can be; he has to be for her.

“Molly… I have taken advantage of you, yes. I have manipulated you. I have humiliated you. I have let you down. Despite this, you always mattered. Always. At first, I was trying to ignore the fact that I’d become attached. Before I met you, people served their purposes and then they were disposable, but after you, the thought of anyone else helping me out in the morgue made me feel uneasy. I have never felt like that. I have never had a preference to anyone like that before I met you. Despite this, you always mattered. Always. At first, I was trying to ignore the fact that I’d become attached. Before I met you, people served their purposes and then they were disposable, but after you, the thought of anyone else helping me out in the morgue made me feel uneasy. I have never felt like that. I have never had a preference to anyone like that before I met you. Maybe, I took advantage because I know you’d always be there however far I pushed you.”

He sighs heavily then continues. “I am not worthy of your love and I … I am not capable of loving you the way you love me. I’m a broken, hard and cold man and you are pure and gentle… I can’t love you, because all I have to offer are shards. I’ll hurt you,” 

Molly laughs as if what he’d said is hysterical. She stops when she realises that Sherlock is rather confused. Did he tell a joke without realising?

“Sherlock, sorry, that sounded… that sounded so poetic, unlike you. And its utter nonsense. It’s not often that you say something that doesn’t make sense. You’re not hard and cold and I am not pure and gentle. I am broken too. But I’ve never needed to be whole to love you. Pieces is sometimes all we have to offer and that is better than nothing even if you get hurt,”

He smiles faintly. “This is a foreign language which I am learning… which I am willing to learn for you… will you teach me?”

*

**One month later**

John and Sherlock are sat on their seats as if it is old times again. However, neither of them can ignore that there are many differences. For instance, Rosy Watson is elated to be crawling around the floor and let out of her pram. Her mother, who would have chuckled and cooed at her daughter and called her intelligent, is no longer with them. The seats are not as worn as their old ones used to be. Indeed, they too have changed a lot as well. Sherlock Holmes for instance, no longer proclaims that sentiment is a defect – seeing as he too has that defect and doesn’t want to outwardly admit it. Furthermore, he no longer played the violin, reserving his playing only for Eurus. John Watson, it seems, is more broken than ever. Never has his demons been so close. However, he’s also stronger – not passing on his daughter to friends, and not allowing himself to plummet and use alcohol as his life line.

They had decided to throw a house warming party weeks before. Rosy had giggled despite not being aware of just what they meant and although John had expected Sherlock to vehemently object to the idea, he did not as much as grimace.

 

Arriving first, is Mrs Hudson. She looks at Sherlock and John – her non-biological son’s – and smiles. Oh, she’s more than glad to have them both back where they belong despite the mess they make. Ten minutes later, Greg arrives who brings with him a six pack of beer. He is closely followed by Molly Hooper, who wears one of her trademark jumpers and a pair of brown trousers. She knows very well that Sherlock has since learn from the Christmas party how to filter his words from insults, but even still, she’s put off wearing any extravagant dresses. Sherlock immediately gets up from his laptop and advances towards Molly, smiling genuinely and asking her about her day, attentively listening as she tells him. He’s learnt since that engaging in conversation with her is just one of the ways he can show her she matters.

Greg watches them for a second frowning, wondering if he’s missed something. He turns to John Watson, whose cradling his daughter in his hands “Are those two?” Greg mouths to John.

John Watson laughs and shakes his head. “No… not yet,”

“Ah… how?” Greg asks, utterly confused. “Those two… how…”

John, instead of replying laughs and welcomes Mycroft who’s just arrived.

“I don’t believe you’ve met Rosy Watson,” John says, presenting his daughter to Mycroft.

“Ah yes. I haven’t. Sherlock showed me a picture at some point,” he states, unsure of how he is supposed to respond. He offers Rosy a hand shake and her soft hands curl around one of his fingers. She gurgles and giggles, saliva cascading down her cheeks. And though Mycroft doesn’t do or understand babies (or humans), he can’t help but feel a little bit thawed by the little girl’s innocence. He places Rosy down and she grabs one of Mycroft’s legs, before becoming disinterested and crawling over to Molly Hooper.

“How’s lady Smallwood?” Sherlock asks.

“How would I know?” Mycroft asks.

“Blonde hairs on your jacket… was it the theatre? Oooh, let me guess, The Phantom of the Opera,” Sherlock laughs.

“It… we were there on official business,”

“She’s divorced now from her husband,” Sherlock continues.

“Now, I don’t know what you are trying to imply…” Mycroft insists.

“If you like her… and she likes you, you get her. You never let go because you only have the people you love on lease,” John adds solemnly. The two Holmes brothers stare at him for several seconds, knowing very well that John speaks from experience.

Sherlock’s eyes darts to Molly, whose completely oblivious and playing with Rosy. “Yes… I dare say, you might be right,”


End file.
